


swallow that light

by apaithy



Category: ATEEZ (Band), Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blowjobs, Humor, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Song Mingi is Miserable With Desire for his Favourite Eboy Rapper, TikTok, Wet & Messy, crosses 'originate an ao3 ship tag' off the bucket list: NICE, no i don't know why i wrote this yes i've evidently gone insane!, soundcloud rapper au, this truly is SO SILLY please be warned!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28632774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apaithy/pseuds/apaithy
Summary: “It’s about the integrity of the art, you know?” Changkyun says sagely. “Rap has tomeansomething.” Mingi nods along vigorously, eating up Changkyun’s every word. God, Changkyun is sosmart. Mingi wants to suck his dick so bad.
Relationships: Im Changkyun | I.M/Song Mingi, past minjoong
Comments: 20
Kudos: 43





	swallow that light

**Author's Note:**

> title from ateez's 'desire', which is coincidentally the song that sparked this entire mess! i'm furthering the mingi 'i love my desire' / changkyun 'you make me jealous baby' kin agenda
> 
> big thanks to my wonderful beta and encourager [taz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/magicsoul), who not only offered to proofread this madness, but was actively excited about it from its inception!

It is barely halfway into the new semester, and Mingi is possibly, maybe, having a little bit of a panic attack.

_Come on, come on,_ he begs frantically, willing his phone to connect. Just when Mingi is starting to mentally hyperventilate, Hongjoong finally picks up, on the second to last ring. “What?” he asks, eloquently. 

Hongjoong used to be a lot nicer to Mingi, back when Mingi was just the tall, blonde freshman who walked into the music production department, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Then Hongjoong learned how ridiculous Mingi really is, and got significantly less pleasant. It is a testament to Mingi’s aforementioned ridiculousness that he was very much on board with this change, and that he and Hongjoong actually became friends.

“He DM-ed me!” Mingi says, helplessly, when his brain reconnects with his tongue.

He can practically hear Hongjoong’s eye roll through the phone. He speaks slowly, as if explaining a very complicated subject to a very stupid child. “ _He_ who, babe? Use your words.”

Mingi splutters weakly. “ _I.M_.”

This, of course, being Im Changkyun, soundcloud rapper and viral tiktoker extraordinaire; known online as I.M, and known in local circles as the subject of Mingi’s obsession. It’s _not_ an obsession, Mingi insists whenever Hongjoong ribs him about it, because Hongjoong is really very mean, no matter how much he insists Mingi deserves it because he ‘never fucking shuts up’. There’s nothing _wrong_ with being an avid fan of a musical artist. Mingi just thinks I.M is very cool, and talented, and his voice makes all the blood rush very quickly from Mingi’s brain.

“Ah,” Hongjoong says.

“What am I meant to fucking _do_ , Joong?” he hisses, but there’s no heat to it. Mingi’s brain is currently elsewhere, vacationing inside an electric meat grinder. When he’d dueted I.M’s latest tiktok, he hadn’t _expected_ to get a response, even if he had spent an otherwise unreasonable amount of time drafting the perfect lyrics for his rendition of the new beat. He has a reputation to maintain, he tells himself, within the small following he’s obtained - he can’t put out bad lyrics, not even for a silly little tiktok, especially not one originated by his idol. Even still, he never imagined he’d get _noticed_ for his efforts. Dueting others’ mixes is common within ‘rap tiktok’, and something I.M actively invites with his own content. There must be hundreds of similar videos to his own circulating the rapper’s feed, and yet _Mingi_ , he messaged.

Mingi’s brain has transferred from being ground down to drowning at sea, buffeted by the waves of his panic. He pulls the phone away from his ear, swiping up out of Hongjoong’s contact to stare blankly at the little notification in his DMs. Glub glub, says his brain.

Hongjoong is speaking again; actually, he might’ve transitioned to ranting. “Jesus, Mingi, _reply to him_. You know, like a normal person? Honestly, I know you’re like a starstruck teenage girl around this guy, for some reason, but he’s not fucking Harry Styles.” 

Mingi does _not_ whimper, just a little. It would almost be less alarming if it _were_ Harry Styles in his DMs, because as much as he likes One Direction, he doesn’t care about Harry Styles and his white boy gender role breaking _personally_. He _cares_ about what I.M thinks of him, as a person, as a rapper.

“Have you even read it?” Hongjoong asks, voice tinny and all too knowing through the iPhone speaker. Mingi’s silence is as good as confirmation; he’d seen enough of the pop-up to know it wasn’t negative, and immediately dialed Hongjoong’s number. “Wow, okay, you’re insufferable. Literally what did I ever see in you.”

He musters enough coherency to bite back, “I don’t know, I definitely remember something about me being hot,” and Hongjoong laughs in his ear.

“Ding ding ding, sweetheart. You are, tragically, cursed to be both attractive and talented. There is literally a reason why _other_ people interact with your shit online. Why do you _think_ this guy is hitting you up?”

Mingi frowns, recoiling from his phone. It would be _nice_ (read: insane, mind-blowing) if I.M were into him, but, “He’s not like that,” Mingi retorts, even though he knows exactly as much about the guy as any other one of his many, many followers. “He has, like, artistic integrity.” And he’s probably not even into guys, he adds mentally.

Hongjoong scoffs. “Alright, yeah, I’m hanging up now. You’re coming in to lay down lyrics on Friday still, right? I will not attempt to stop Seonghwa throttling you for wasting studio time again if you’re late.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mingi agrees lamely. His grey matter is still underwater.

“Don’t die,” Hongjoong says, a gentle edge to his voice. “I’ll see you Friday.”

His screen goes blank; end of call. Mingi stares at his own pitiful reflection in the black glass for a minute, and then, with the poise of a man who is absolutely not running away, places it face down on the tabletop, and goes to scavenge for food.

Later, he returns armed with instant ramen and more beers than he needs, and settles into bed, duvet a comforting weight over his knees. He pops the cap on the first bottle, maneuvers a forkful of noodles into his mouth, and then, and only then, does he reopen the app.

Tiktok’s home screen stares up at him blithely. He stares back, chewing, impassive.

Of course, this site is not his original base, nor is it I.M’s. Mingi first stumbled across the other rapper a couple of years ago, in the depths of soundcloud. An aspiring artist himself, having just barely entered college and still at that point gathering the confidence to release anything of his own, Mingi had considered himself something of a connoisseur of the underground scene. As soon as artists phased into the mainstream, they too phased out of Mingi’s interest. From the first listen, though, he recognised I.M as being _different_. The rapper’s tone, lyrics, flow, all hit Mingi like a truck. He was fucking _good_ , his sound so closely resembling the kind of music Mingi himself wanted to make. He spent days scrolling down the guy’s profile, listening to every mixtape and original song till the words settled into his bones. It was safe to say he was a fan, and he made this known, commenting on his favourite parts of the other man’s songs. Because, in truth, he’s actually ‘spoken’ to I.M before. At the time, back when I.M only had a scant 40k followers, compared to the 400-something thousand he must have across platforms now, he had a lot more freedom to reply to comments - and reply he did, many times, to Mingi himself. Sometimes they even went back and forth with a few messages, instead of just a simple ‘thank you!!’ accompanied by a silly little emoji. Then, of course, I.M’s music blew up, his audience only tripling when he once again went viral on tiktok, and Mingi’s dutiful comments were lost in a sea of far too many to wade through and answer.

So. The message.

_Don’t be a pussy_ , he thinks, hyping himself up. The hearts on the duet in question have only been growing, which is positive encouragement. It might actually be his most popular video yet, which isn’t surprising with the influence of I.M’s fanbase, but also immediately makes him feel like a horrible little rat, unintentionally using his favourite artist for clout. 

He takes a giant swig of his beer, nearly chokes, and accidentally swipes open the DM.

Well. No turning back now, then.

_hey man!_ I.M has sent, under a share of the video in question. _just wanna say how awesome this verse is, literally better than what i had planned haha_

Mingi’s traitorous brain starts shrinking inside his skull.

I.M, basically his rap idol, everything he wants and wants to be, thought Mingi’s verse was better than his own. Song Mingi, barely 20k followers to his name! His brain has reached the size and consistency of a frozen pea.

How on earth is he meant to respond to that? On instinct, he almost types ‘ohmygod NO’ straight into the text box, desperate to refute the idea that he is more skilled that I.M in any way. Thankfully, his hands actually behave, and after too many minutes of nail-biting deliberation, what he _actually_ sends is:

_wow thanks_ _bro_ _!! means a lot, i look up to you so much as an artist FR_

__

Not exactly the Mona Lisa of replies, but it feels safe. Mingi resolutely does _not_ stare at his phone for several minutes more, like he might manifest a reply if he looks at it hard enough, and returns to his dinner. His ramen is going cold; the beer, conversely, is getting unsettlingly warm - gross. He drinks it anyway. He’s floating on a cloud of praise and admiration. Nothing could possibly touch him.

Inevitably, it only takes two weeks for Mingi to become completely hopeless.

He was really quite hopeless to begin with, of course, something his friends would be only too happy to confirm (seriously, why are all of his friends so _mean_?), but they’ve been _texting_. Him and Changkyun, that is. _Call me Changkyun_ , he’d messaged, the first time Mingi had called him his stage name to his face, and then abruptly asked for Mingi’s snapchat. He still gets giddy thinking about it.

So, they talk; mostly about music, but about other things, too. Changkyun is only four years older than Mingi, they find, but he knows so _much_ , never mind that Mingi is the majority of the way through his degree. Changkyun is largely still a bedroom producer, like Mingi, despite that he could’ve easily secured a real record deal with the size of his following by now. He has so much insight into the process, of both writing and producing, of starting out with no backing to support you. He also knows all the best hole-in-the-wall restaurants downtown, since they apparently live in the same city, and keeps sending Mingi recommendations. Mingi admires him so much.

They don’t really talk outside of messages, though Changkyun has taken to sending Mingi voice notes, on occasion, as well as outtakes from tiktoks, and snippets of whatever music he’s currently working on, which they pore over together, talking shop. He has to email Mingi the files - from his _personal_ email, not the one he displays on Instagram for business. Mingi wonders if this means something, then feels stupid for even thinking it.

Mingi is very glad they haven’t transitioned to phone calls. Contrary to what one might think, being a rapper and all, his tongue has a terrible tendency to fall out of his head and wriggle around on the floor like a dying fish when he tries to talk to someone he likes. Not that he’s going _after_ Changkyun, or anything. Obviously, he likes Changkyun as a rapper, and now as a friend, but he also _respects_ him, a feeling he hopes is mutual. Mingi resolutely doesn’t consider himself one of the legion of fangirls who lap up every knowing little smile Changkyun flashes at the camera, thirsting after the latest pretty e-boy. He’s always admired Changkyun as a fellow artist. He isn’t going to be _that person_ , even if the quantity of Changkyun’s tiktoks that could potentially be classed as ‘thirst traps’ has increased dramatically since they began talking.

Changkyun keeps sending them to him, as if Mingi doesn’t follow him on literally everything. Mingi is trying desperately not to read into it. It’s making him feel very confused.

Everything is going alarmingly fine, until one day, Changkyun messages him, _yo, you wanna meet up_ _soon_ _? feels dumb that we live 20 minutes apart sending eachother music when you could just come over and hear it_

__

Okay, so, maybe Mingi might be a thirsty fangirl, just a little bit. He gapes at the text until he can practically hear his mom’s voice telling him not to catch flies, and forces his jaw shut.

Propensity to get tongue tied in person regardless, Mingi wants nothing more than to go back and reply enthusiastically, _yes of course!!!_ _i would love to come hang out at your place and talk music and possibly kiss you on the mouth!!_ _!_ Unfortunately, because life is a nightmare and God hates him, what he actually says is very different.

_sorry kinda swamped atm man, midterms are kicking my ass :( sounds good sometime later tho!!!_

__

He watches the words pop up in their thread, delivery confirmed, feeling miserable. Of course, Changkyun actually wants to hang out in person, helpfully at the time when Mingi has about 12-thousand projects to turn in. He can see a lot of late nights in the library and the studio in his future, when what he’d like to be seeing is Changkyun. It’s _so_ unfair. He’d like to file a formal complaint.

Quickly, his phone beeps. Changkyun has sent him a very dismayed looking emoji, followed by a pleading one. _no worries_ , he says, _lmk when you’re free again!_

__

Mingi sends him a sad face in return and shuts off his phone, deeply aggrieved. What if Changkyun thinks this is a rejection, instead of what it really is: a tragic indictment of the extreme and excessive punishments of the American higher education system? He stresses about it for a good sixteen hours, teeth worrying his poor fingernails until they bleed, before Changkyun texts him again, asking how the dreaded schoolwork is going. Mingi breathes a sigh of relief so loud that it startles Yunho, who had been dosing lightly on top of his applied business textbook, and replies with a near-embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. Thankfully, Changkyun either doesn’t notice, or is receptive to Mingi’s ludicrous use of punctuation, and things continue as normal.

Normal, that is, until a further week after that. Mingi is still drowning in assignments, but he’s whittled them down by about half (score!), and Seonghwa, heavensent TA that he is, has wrangled them a few extra days in which to submit their current projects. He really has no idea how Seonghwa manages it. Were Mingi a meaner person, he might suspect underhand dealings with their professor, but Seonghwa has clearly been holding a candle for Hongjoong since, like, the dawn of time, and also has self respect, so he obviously just has super powers. This slight reprieve from deadline city means that Mingi is actually allowed to enjoy himself for maybe 5 seconds per day, instead of the previous 2, and so he drags Yunho to study at an actual Starbucks, rather than drinking that horrendous machine shit in the library.

“Seriously, where did all these fantasies about hooking up in the stacks originate?” Mingi wonders aloud, just before disaster strikes. “That place is _hell_. You could go insane in there. There’s nothing remotely sexy about it!”

Yunho opens his mouth to reply, probably with something very sane and wise, but before he can speak, the world is promptly shattered by a surprised, “Mingi?” from behind them.

Mingi _knows_ that voice. He’s heard it a thousand times, in rap verses, in voice notes - Jesus, he’s even definitely not jerked off to that voice, maybe. It was _one_ time, okay!

“Changkyun,” he says, looking up, when he manages to extract his brain from places it _very much so_ should not be going, in this Starbucks, with the man in question apparently (what the fuck!) standing in front of him. Yunho’s eyes are dancing between the two of them, wide as Mingi would ever have seen them, if he could bear to tear his own gaze away to look.

Holy crap. Im Changkyun, in all his glory, is holding a reusable cup in one hand, a chocolate croissant in the other, and looking dead at Mingi in pleasant surprise. He’s shorter than Mingi expected \- there’s no way to gauge height from a video without a true frame of reference, but his voice always seems to demand presence, somehow. Not that he doesn’t have it! Mingi, for one, is definitely transfixed. Fuck, he’s so pretty.

“Wow, I wasn’t sure if it was you, didn’t know if I should say anything,” Changkyun says, flashing a smile at Yunho, who is no less distressed for it. “Is it okay if I sit? Or are you guys busy?”

His voice is even deeper in person, if that’s possible. Mingi is going to pass out. He’s evidently struggling, because Yunho says, “Yeah, of course!” when he fails to answer, and elbows him indiscreetly under the table. Changkyun looks unsure, suddenly, so Mingi musters a grin, floundering for words. He can feel his tongue readying to leap to its death.

Changkyun sits down, directly opposite Mingi. Mingi has never wanted to shrink smaller in his life, his ridiculous legs encroaching on Changkyun’s space of their own accord, knocking their knees together. “Sorry!” he blurts, but Changkyun just smiles at him, a little shy and eyes twinkling.

“It’s all good,” he says warmly, finding somewhere to put his food amongst their study materials. Mingi springs to life, clearing his highlighters away, which makes Yunho snort beside him. Changkyun just keeps smiling at him, like that’s supposed to _help_?

“Ah, sorry,” he apologises again. “You’re saving us from hour three of statistics.”

Changkyun just shakes his head. “Still climbing that mountain, huh? Sad I missed out on the other experiences, but _man_ , I’m glad I skipped college.” He turns his gaze to Yunho, extending a fistbump that Yunho reciprocates. “I’m Changkyun, by the way.”

Yunho grins suspiciously. “I know!” Mingi balks and kicks him under the table, narrowly missing Changkyun in the process. Yunho shows no reaction, the bastard. “I’m Yunho - I was Mingi’s roommate freshman year. He talks about you a lot.”

The tips of Mingi’s ears are definitely pink. His friends are _so_ awful, he’s never telling any of them anything again. He can only imagine Hongjoong’s reaction to this little incident when he inevitably catches wind of it in the next, oh, say five hours. He’s never gonna hear the end of it.

“Oh?” Changkyun, who, like Mingi, obviously can’t hide his emotions to can’t save his life, appears to be blushing faintly. Mingi takes it all back - Yunho is his best friend _ever,_ he owes him so many coffees.

He giggles faintly, looking down into the dregs of his own cup. “I mean, I told you I’ve been a fan of your music forever, and I tell my friends when I make other friends!” God, why does he have to be so shy about this kind of thing. He’s so confident about everything else!

“It’s ok, it’s cute,” Changkyun says, and Mingi promptly flatlines. Here lies Song Mingi, cause of death: a tiny compliment from his once online, apparently now in person crush. Contents of will: one prized collection of graphic novels, bequeathed to one Jeong Yunho.

Back on the mortal plane, Yunho’s eyes are the size of moons at this development. Changkyun doesn’t seem embarrassed at his comment at all, which makes Mingi think maybe he’s reading it wrong, and then Changkyun deliberately knocks his knee against Mingi’s and oh, shit. Okay! Alright!

“I’m not stalking you, by the way,” he says, this time actually sheepish, and Mingi frowns. “I have a friend in a grad program, so sometimes we hang out on campus.”

Oh! That makes more sense. “Ah, Minhyuk, right?” he asks, and Changkyun beams.

“Yeah, you remembered! I crashed at his place, so I was just on my way home, actually.”

Mingi’s heart drops. Maybe he _is_ reading this wrong, after all, no matter how many times he’s crashed entirely platonically on his own friends’ couches. _Changkyun is so hot - surely any friends he has probably want to sleep with him_ , Mingi thinks, and then feels mean for thinking so shallowly of the probably very nice people Changkyun associates with. It _would_ track, though, because after all, Mingi is Changkyun’s friend now, and he _absolutely_ wants to sleep with him. He can admit it easier, now that he’s seen him in person. He looks at Changkyun appreciatively from under his lashes, trying not to be obvious. Oh, yeah. Mingi wants to ride that train as far as he can take it.

Instead of expressing how much he would like to jump Changkyun’s bones, he says, “Oh, no, are we keeping you?”

Blessedly, Changkyun shakes his head. “Nah, there’s not another bus for like thirty minutes. Public transport, right?” Mingi hums along commiseratingly, even though his studio apartment is close enough to campus to walk, and he takes the bus about once a fortnight, if that.

They make small talk for a few minutes, chatting idly about he and Yunho’s studies while Changkyun picks at his croissant until the conversation lulls. Mingi is trying to think of something else to say, actively trying not to steer it towards music and exclude Yunho from the conversation (Yunho is his buffer, he needs him!) when Yunho’s phone rings. His friend grabs it, makes a face, and smiles apologetically at the both of them. “Hongjoong,” he explains. Mingi watches the peacetime before Hongjoong starts teasing him shrink abruptly from hours to minutes.

“Actually, I should be heading out,” Yunho continues, and Mingi panics. _Don’t leave me by myself with this!_ his expression begs, but Yunho just starts gathering his things, draining the last of his drink as he goes. “My brain was kinda starting to collapse anyway, and you know if I don’t call him back fast he’ll start blowing up my phone.”

Mingi does know; Hongjoong is incorrigible. That doesn’t lessen his panic any, though, because there are two options once Yunho leaves: either Mingi will be left _alone_ with Changkyun, which is bound to be a disaster, or Changkyun will _also_ leave, which is worse!

“Ah, it was nice to meet you anyway, dude,” Changkyun is saying as Yunho slings his backpack over one shoulder. Yunho nods agreement, smiling at him.

“Yeah, of course!” he says, and then adds, conspiratorial, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.” He throws Mingi a wink on his way out, where Changkyun can’t see it. Mingi feels very much so ganged up on.

“His boyfriend?” Changkyun asks, once the door swings shut, and Mingi’s shocked snort is so violent that it nearly starts a coughing fit. 

“No, _definitely_ not,” he assures once he recovers, letting out a nervous little laugh. He’s very glad that his own relationship with Hongjoong is not the one being questioned - the backstory to that would be a little more complicated to explain. “Hongjoong’s just...like that.”

Changkyun nods, as if that makes perfect sense, and then says, “I am sorry for interrupting you guys, by the way. I know you have a lot going on at the moment, I just know I would’ve been mad at myself if I didn’t at least say hey, you know?”

Mingi shakes his head vigorously. “Me too!” he agrees, feeling his blush creep right down to his chest. “I mean - I would’ve been mad, if you hadn’t said hi, too. You know, I really wanted to hang with you already, but,” he gestures helplessly to the study materials still strewn around him.

Thankfully, Changkyun just laughs, understanding. “No worries, man. I can wait.” Abruptly, he checks his watch (a _nice_ one, too, like a proper adult - that thing is probably a weeks worth of Mingi’s _rent_ ) and makes a face. Mingi gazes at him imploringly, and receives a disappointed half-smile. “Honestly, I need to go soon, too. Gotta catch that bus, right?”

Dejection smothers Mingi like a lead blanket. “Ah, right…” he agrees, intimately aware of how obvious he must be. “Can’t be late!”

The other man hums assent, but he’s clearly lingering, folding a napkin absently into ever decreasing shapes. _Stay; catch the next one_ , Mingi wants to say, but keeps his mouth firmly shut. This is only the first time they’ve met. It would be weird, wouldn’t it?

“Hey,” Changkyun says, suddenly, startling Mingi from his reprieve. “Let me know when all this is over, yeah? It’d be nice to meet up, you know, on purpose, once you’re free.”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Mingi is grinning ear to ear. “First person I’ll tell!”

Gosh, Changkyun’s eyes are so sparkly. Mingi wants to drown in them. “I’ll hold you to that,” Changkyun says, finally rising from his seat. “You gonna be here a while longer?”

Mingi looks down at his notes, then up at Changkyun, practically pouting. “Yeah, unfortunately. Home stretch, though.”

“Cool,” he replies, mystifyingly. “Text me!”

Mingi watches, smitten, as Changkyun grabs his cup and sidles up to the counter, speaking to the barista for a moment before finally taking his leave. Resigned to a Changkyun-less rest of his afternoon, Mingi sighs, and attempts to re-engage with his work. Stats is uninspiring at the _best_ of times, especially tackled alone, and when his other option is mentally replaying every moment of the last 15 glorious minutes on a loop, it’s really no contest. He’s deep in a daydream when someone calls his name a few minutes later, and he looks up, bewildered. For a moment, he wonders if perhaps Changkyun had returned, but no, it’s just the barista. She appropriately butchers his name, sounding more like _mangy_ than Mingi (really, America? It’s literally _two_ syllables), and he wanders to the counter, confused.

“I didn’t order anything,” he says, frowning, when she hands him a refill of his latte, and the girl just smiles sweetly. 

“Nah, that other guy did! Just before he left. It’s on the house - you guys looked so cute over there, I told him not to pay.”

Slowly, the dots connect. Changkyun...ordered Mingi a fresh drink...before he left. “Oh. Thank you?” he says, lost, and returns in a daze to his seat. His fingers float across his phone keyboard unbidden, sending an emoji cluttered ‘ _thank you!!!’_. The reply is quick - a winking selfie, underlined ‘ _you’re welcome_ ’. Mingi’s little googly eyes spin in their sockets, gaping at it until his screen darkens.

Right, then. What on earth is he meant to do with _that_?

True to his word, the first thing Mingi does as he rolls out of his last exam several days later, tired but elated, is text Changkyun. 

_IM FREEEEEE!!!!!!!!_ he writes, accompanying a rare selfie. _WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY FUCKING LIFE_

__

The reply comes as he’s walking home, a spring in his step. It’s plainer than he would’ve hoped, a clear sign that he’s _way_ too invested in whatever the hell is going on with them, but whatever, Changkyun has a life, too. He’s probably busy! _ayyy congrats, i’m proud of you!!!_ is a perfectly acceptable response. He lingers over ‘ _i’m proud of you_ ’ and feels his face heat, doing his best to also look where he’s going and not trip into the road. 

Hongjoong is throwing a party tomorrow, once their whole friend-group has finished all their assignments, and showing up with busted knees would _not_ be a good look. Mingi is planning to get very wasted, look very hot, and hopefully pull. Spending the last few weeks both chained to his desk _and_ miserable with desire for Changkyun has done very little for his sex life, and honestly, he deserves to get laid! He’d thought about inviting Changkyun, but decided against it. Changkyun is probably _beyond_ _over_ something as trivial as a college houseparty, and Mingi is still deeply unsure where they stand on the whole ‘would you be open to letting me get my mouth around your cock’ situation, so Changkyun being present would likely only hinder his plans. That, and his friends continue to be actual demons, so he really doesn’t want Changkyun and Hongjoong within 10 feet of each other _ever_ , if he can help it.

Mingi responds with a gratified string of emojis, pockets his phone, and largely forgets about it for the rest of the day. He spends his afternoon trashing enemies in COD, making dinner, and facetiming Wooyoung to discuss party outfit options. He’s slumped on his tiny couch, idly scrolling Netflix and debating the merits of starting a new show despite already having three on the go, when his phone buzzes.

_hey, you busy??_

Mingi checks the time - 8pm. He’s regularly talked with Changkyun into the small hours of the morning, when they’ve really been getting into it over music, so this isn’t exactly out of the ordinary. Even after confirming that his course requirements no longer have him by the balls, it’s so sweet of Changkyun to check that he’s free to talk!

He beams excitedly, replying, _nah i am now unreasonably free lol_

__

The ‘Changkyun is typing…’ pops up instantly. It stays that way for so long that Mingi resumes scrolling on his laptop, unperturbed, until finally the message comes through.

_niceee_

_do you wanna hang out maybe?? we can celebrate your freedom!!!_

_chill if not tho obvs, i know its late_

__

Mingi blinks stupidly at the screen. Changkyun wants to meet up, like, _right now_? He queries as much, brain beginning to cave in. Of course, his other friends occasionally pester him to come meet up this late, so it could be nothing! Changkyun probably is just excited that Mingi is finally free! The thought of even that sets off a somehow pleasant sense of seasickness in his gut.

Changkyun has responded. _yeah, why not?? I have beer haha_

__

Well! Who is Mingi to say no to an offer of free alcohol?

It's through this that he finds himself standing outside Changkyun’s apartment building, roughly an hour later - thirty minutes for the journey, thirty for Mingi to panic-change his outfit and put on eyeliner, just in case! It’s an old walk-up, four stories, though in a much nicer part of town than Mingi’s dingy college neighbourhood. Changkyun lives on the top floor, apparently. He wonders if there’s a view.

The outside door has an intercom, so by the time Mingi ascends all four flights of stairs, Changkyun is already expecting him, leaning against the doorframe. Mingi goggles at the sight. Changkyun is captivating in all black, shirt loose and barely buttoned halfway. He’s wearing an absurd number of silver bracelets, rattling together as he reaches to clap Mingi on the shoulder, herding him into the apartment.

“You want a beer?” he asks. Mingi notices a bottle dangling loosely from Changkyun’s other hand, fingers barely catching round the neck, and nods mutely. Changkyun grins at him, warm and open, sauntering off into the kitchen. The apartment is largely open plan, though much bigger than Mingi’s - the living space is actually a comfortable distance away from the cooking area, rather than practically sitting in its lap. Two doors lead off from the main space, presumably the bedroom and bathroom, respectively, and yet. Mingi blinks rapidly, but no, that definitely _is_ a bed, tucked into the corner behind the sofa, hastily made with dark sheets.

Changkyun chooses this moment to return, waving the bottle under Mingi’s nose. He follows his gaze and laughs, a little embarrassed. “Ah, right.” Mingi takes the beer, leaving Changkyun to run an awkward hand through his hair. “So, I kind of turned the bedroom into a home studio. Better acoustics, and it’s nice to have a dedicated space. Most people think it’s dumb...but you probably get it, right?”

Mingi _does_ get it - he probably would’ve done the same thing, had he the space and sense to think of it. The door to the studio is just barely ajar, allowing the faint glow of LED lights to pour through. “Wow,” he breathes. “I mean, yeah, absolutely. I just borrow the university’s space when I can get time, but having your own studio…” he trails off, a little awed and a lot jealous.

Changkyun has made his way over to the couch, so Mingi takes that as his cue to follow, sitting gingerly at the opposite end. It's bigger than Mingi’s sofa, but not by much, and with the way Changkyun is comfortably splayed out, their knees nearly touch. “Hey, you’re welcome to borrow it any time,” he says with a slow grin, and Mingi’s heart constricts tragically in his chest. He’s very glad Changkyun offered him a drink - Mingi is definitely not getting through this without alcohol. 

One beer quickly turns into two as Mingi attempts to relax. The extended reality of Changkyun in a confined physical space is a new and alarming complication, but thankfully, his struggle appears to go unnoticed. Changkyun is as warm as ever, and Mingi melts despite himself. Changkyun is just so _nice_! He’s easy to be comfortable with, even as the entire situation sets off sirens inside Mingi’s head. _Nee Naw Nee Naw!_ it wails, when Changkyun leans on him following a particularly funny joke. He manages to persuade Changkyun to give him a tour of the studio after that little incident, which leaves Mingi dizzy for entirely _different_ reasons. The setup is ridiculous - multiple screens, sophisticated mic, and a PC so beefy it could probably knock Mingi out if they met in the ring. An electronic keyboard sits hooked up to the whole rig, and Changkyun shyly admits he’s been playing piano since childhood, cranking out a brief rendition of Clair De Lune that makes Mingi feel very much so like the serenaded heroine of a romance novel. Eat your heart out, Bella Swan! He coaxes Mingi to play a little, too, but he keeps fumbling the notes, with Changkyun plastered to the back of the fancy gaming chair and leaning over Mingi’s shoulder to coo over how lucky Mingi is as a musician to have such large hands. That’s just a bit too much for Mingi, overheating under the neon lights, and he begs off for a glass of water, relocating them both back to the couch. 

Their exploration of the studio triggers a musical discussion in earnest, and Mingi is predictably enthralled. He has his own comments to add, but largely he’s mesmerised by Changkyun, happy to just listen. They’ve never talked about any of this stuff _out-loud_ , only over messages at length, and the passion in Changkyun’s deep voice as he gives sprawling commentary on the corrupt and manufactured state of the industry, better than any TED Talk Mingi’s ever seen, is doing something funny to his insides.

“It’s about the integrity of the art, you know?” Changkyun says sagely. “Rap has to _mean_ something.” Mingi nods along vigorously, eating up Changkyun’s every word. God, Changkyun is so _smart_. Mingi wants to suck his dick so bad.

Suddenly, Changkyun changes track, a suspicious look in his eye. “Hey,” he asks, tentatively. “You wanna smoke?”

“I don’t do cigarettes,” Mingi says on autopilot, much more preoccupied with staring at Changkyun’s lips. He tried once when he started college, just for the experience, but always explains that he doesn’t feel like paying his way to lung cancer. Truthfully, he had that single taste and _hated_ it, coughing and spluttering like a baby, but he’s not gonna _tell_ everyone that! He’s supposed to be cool!

Changkyun just shakes his head, face full of mirth and anticipation. “Not cigarettes,” he corrects kindly. “Weed.”

“Oh.” Mingi’s mouth makes a round, surprised shape and stays that way. Weed. Pot. The Devil’s Lettuce. Mingi’s been _around_ the stuff many times, but he’s never actually _had_ it. Every time he thinks about trying, all he can hear in his head is his mom’s voice, telling him how disappointed she is. As much as Mingi likes to make out that he’s fun and goes to parties, he’s actually depressingly straight laced. He’s probably the only rapper on the entirety of Soundcloud who's never smoked. 

His trepidation must show, because Changkyun puts his hands up placatingly. “Hey, we don’t have to! It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, no judgement.”

“No, I want to!” Mingi assures, frantic. His lust for Changkyun (’s approval) is, at this point, a much stronger influence than his mom’s _disapproval_ could ever be. “I’ve just never, uh…”

Understanding washes over Changkyun’s face. “First time?”

Mingi goes beet red, like some horrible little virgin. “Yeah,” he confirms meekly, suddenly embarrassed and hot down to his toes. Changkyun pats Mingi’s thigh, making him jump about three feet into the air, and wanders off into his studio. When he returns, he’s holding a small metal tin, no bigger than Mingi’s hand. He opens it as he settles back onto the coach, much closer now, so Mingi can see the contents. Mingi, conversely, _really_ couldn’t care less what’s inside, not when Changkyun’s leg is pressed up against him from hip to knee.

Changkyun rests the box on their joined thighs and pulls out a small plastic baggie, filled with what _could_ at a push be oregano, but is most probably not. A laugh bubbles out of Mingi, high pitched, like a whoopie-cushion deflating. Drugs! He’s gonna do drugs with his Idol/Friend/Crush, at his home, with exactly zero space between them. Seems fine!

Whilst Mingi was panicking, Changkyun has retrieved a small, thin piece of paper from the tin and is doing something very complicated with it and the weed that Mingi can't follow. “We won’t do too much, for your first time,” he’s saying, as Mingi watches his fingers intently. “I’m pretty used to it, but it can hit hard, when you’re not. Don’t wanna break you on your first go, right?”

Mingi stifles a whimper. _Please do,_ he wants to say, _you have full permission to break me in whatever way you’d like!_ _Enthusiastic consent, even!_ He’s honestly shocked he’s not started to get hard already. He’s a young, healthy guy, and this is _Changkyun_ \- it usually takes _way_ less than this! Oh, this is such a bad idea.

Mingi is forced to avert his eyes as Changkyun uses his tongue to seal what is now very clearly a joint. The other man fishes a lighter from his pocket, inspects his handiwork, and lights it. The smell abruptly assaults Mingi’s senses as Changkyun takes an experimental drag and gently blows the smoke out into the room. Seeming satisfied, Changkyun turns to him, and Mingi gulps. 

“Alright,” he says, passing Mingi the joint. Mingi gazes at it like it's an alien lifeform. “You’re gonna go first - I don’t wanna be stoned and trying to look after you if you react badly. So, you-” he cuts himself off, laughing, and suddenly his hands are on Mingi’s, prying his fingers away where his grip has started to crush the damn thing. He slots it back between his middle and index fingers, light as a feather, and Mingi shivers. “You wanna get your lips around just the tip,” oh, _hello_ , Little Mingi, welcome to the party! “And inhale - slow, but deep, you wanna draw enough out that it actually does something, yeah? Then blow.”

Does Changkyun _hear_ himself? Is he doing it on purpose? Mingi’s stomach has been replaced with a washing machine set to spin cycle. Everything lurid he’s ever imagined about Changkyun is sloshing around in his gut, and he squeezes his thighs together, trying to think of anything else. Cold showers. Baseball. Yunho’s smelly gym shoes. Hongjoong - _nope_ , wrong direction, go _back_! That one summer he worked at The Gap. Grandma!

He’s so preoccupied that, when Changkyun begins to look at him strangely, he rushes to take a hit, _much_ too fast, and comes up wheezing.

“ _Wow_ , yeah, that's what we’re trying to avoid!” Changkyun rubs his lower back soothingly, which does the opposite of help. He feels the joint plucked from his fingers just as he was about to drop it, curled in on himself. “Easy, easy. You good?”

Mingi croaks out a “Yeah!”, decidedly untrue, though the coughing has subsided. He looks up, shamefaced, but Changkyun’s expression features no derision, only warmth.

“Honestly, I should’ve expected that - happens to most people the first time, don’t worry.” Changkyun is a saint, Mingi has decided. Or some kind of demon - one of the two, anyway. “You gotta take it really slow, hold it in your lungs for a second. Watch.”

Mingi, happy to do as he’s told, watches as Changkyun does just that, taking a smooth drag before pulling off and exhaling the smoke. Screw getting high himself, Mingi could get high off of just watching Changkyun do it, but then Changkyun is passing the joint back to him with a lazy grin. “Wanna try?”

He nods, brings it to his lips, and does as instructed. It’s less bad, this time, though he still coughs miserably on the release. “I don’t think this is gonna work,” he mutters, despondent, and Changkyun hums thoughtfully, though when Might looks up, his eyes are suspiciously bright.

“We could try shotgunning it?” he asks, leaving Mingi to feel very silly as he discovers he doesn’t know what that is. He voices as much, and Changkyun’s smile takes on a mischievous tinge. “It’s when one person smokes from the joint,” he explains, “and passes it into the other person’s mouth, like, to share. Secondhand.”

Is Changkyun blushing? Changkyun’s blushing. The light in the room is dim, but he knows what he sees. Mingi is _definitely_ blushing, pink like roses. His brain is, true to form, collapsing, but the weed has obviously had some sort of effect, because he feels floaty, at ease, only the first couple of floors crumbling as opposed to the whole building. 

“Yeah,” Mingi says, quietly. “Okay, yeah.”

Changkyun looks strangely elated, and Mingi watches as he takes a long pull, leans forward, and exhales into Mingi’s still open mouth.

Oh. So that's what Changkyun’s lips feel like. It’s not quite a kiss, strange and open mouthed, but their lips do touch, Changkyun’s plush mouth against Mingi’s slightly dry one. He feels like a baby bird, fed from the mouth, and would giggle if he weren’t so tense. He just barely remembers to inhale, taking the smoke down into his lungs and holding it there, like a gift. Changkyun pulls just barely back to watch Mingi’s shaky exhale, stiller than he’s ever been. He feels a little lightheaded.

“Good?” Changkyun asks, and Mingi nods, wordless. Another puff, even more this time, and then Changkyun is back again, pushing the smoke into him. Mingi holds in place, and just as Changkyun is about to pull away he surges forward, experimentally breathing right back into Changkyun’s mouth.

Changkyun looks shaken as he leans back, letting the smoke dissipate into the air. “Wow,” he says, eloquently, and then, “Ah, what the hell.”

_Oh._ So this is what _kissing_ Changkyun feels like. He feels momentarily disconnected from his body, from the wet heat between them, and then is dragged right back in as Changkyun grasps his face and explores experimentally with his tongue. Mingi melts under the touch, until he absently feels something hot on his cheek and pulls back, hissing. Changkyun frowns at him, and then at his own hand, appalled to find the still-lit joint, and crushes it against the coffee table with a “Fuck, sorry, I’m sorry,” before rushing back in for more. 

Changkyun is an excellent kisser, much better than Mingi, who is often sloppy but tries to make up for it in boundless enthusiasm. Changkyun doesn’t seem to mind, eagerly licking into Mingi’s mouth, tasting him. His hands have moved, one against Mingi’s chest, the other pulling at his thigh, practically on his ass. Changkyun has twisted his body to wholeheartedly face him, and Mingi does the same, climbing wholesale into Changkyun’s lap with a grunt. He’s too tall to be doing this, legs akimbo, but he rolls his hips helplessly and _oh_ , Changkyun is half-hard too. He moans so hard into Changkyun’s mouth that he has to pull off to breathe, rocking his head onto the other man’s shoulder.

“Wasshappnin,” he slurs incoherently, which is Miserably-Confused-And-Turned-On Mingi-Speak for ‘oh my god what’s going on why do you like me what did I ever do to deserve this?’

Changkyun cards a hand through his hair soothingly, but sounds equally rattled. His many bracelets are cold at the nape of Mingi’s neck. “Oh, _baby_ ,” he says, and Mingi fucking _keens_ , this would be so embarrassing if he weren’t too far gone to care. “Wanted to do that since I first saw you, Jesus.”

Mingi pulls away to look at him, still deeply confused. The movement only seats him more firmly over Changkyun’s dick, and they both groan. “What?” he asks, breathless. “Really?”

Changkyun nods, emphatic. “Yeah.” His hands come to rest at Mingi’s waist, holding him steady. “Ever since I saw that fucking tiktok, oh my god, you’re so hot, and your _voice_ ,” he trails off, and Mingi decides he needs to do something with his mouth, like, now, pressing a string of hot kisses to Changkyun’s neck. He has to strain his own neck to do it, but it doesn’t matter. “Shit, it went straight to my dick,” Changkyun gasps, dropping his head back to allow Mingi better access. He sounds _wrecked_ , already, how Mingi had always dreamed he might, the one time he put on his headphones and sat on his dildo until he came, nearly crying, to the sound of Changkyun’s voice. Mingi wriggles in his lap, just to feel the real thing against him. Changkyun’s breath hitches, but he continues, as if he knows just how much Mingi is enjoying this. “And you’re so _tall_ , there’s so much of you, I dunno what to do with all of it.”

Mingi has made his way down to Changkyun’s collarbones, nosing at the warm skin there, but he wants more. His hands fiddle with a button, and Changkyun makes no move to stop him, so he pops one open, then another, until the shirt is open but for where it’s still tucked into his jeans. Mingi stares at the expanse of skin and practically drools, but this isn’t what he wants, not really. Suddenly shy, he sits up, eyes cast down, a palm resting on Changkyun’s abs. “I wasn’t sure if you liked me,” he murmurs honestly, pouting. “Didn’t think you _could_ , like, I know I’m hot, but I’m just _me_ , and you’re, well, _you_.” He paws at Changkyun’s chest. “You’re so sexy, I like you so much.”

Changkyun’s hands slide down to Mingi’s ass. “Mingi,” he says, serious. “I’ve been trying to get you over here like _this_ ,” his hands squeeze Mingi’s flesh to illustrate his point, forcing an from him an undignified groan, “since day one.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes, suddenly feeling dumb. All those times he thought he was misconstruing things, Changkyun had been...He shudders. Fuck, he’s so fucking lucky. All the people in the world and Changkyun wants to fool around with him. It’s ridiculous. He surges forward for another string of kisses, wet and messy on both their parts, grinding down against Changkyun. He’s so hard it’s actually starting to _hurt_ , straining against his jeans. Why did he wear _jeans_? He’s so stupid. He should’ve worn something easier to get off, he should’ve worn sweats, he should’ve worn _nothing_.

“Wannasuckyourdick,” he says against Changkyun’s mouth, and Changkyun frowns, pulling away.

“Come again?” he says, and oh, shit, he _was_ doing it on purpose.

“Fucking _wanna_ ,” Mingi whines assent, even though they haven’t yet gotten through the first round. “Wanna suck you off, been thinking about it forever.”

Changkyun’s eyes are blown huge and dark. “Okay,” he nods. “Shit, yeah, alright.”

Mingi slides out of Changkyun’s lap, feeling momentarily bereft but knowing he’s about to get something better, and settles onto the floor on his knees. Changkyun shifts with him, swinging his legs around so Mingi can sit between them, head resting on his thigh. He wrestles his way into his own pants, desperate for something to push against, some relief. His sigh is so guttural when he gets a hand around his cock that Changkyun looks shocked, hips canting into the air of their own accord. Mingi is forced to lift his head as Changkyun first shucks off his jeans, then boxers, ending up god-knows-where across the room. He ends up glad for it, given the best view when Changkyun’s dick is finally freed, Mingi rutting into his own hand like a fucking teenager. Jesus, he’s so eager for it, but can you _blame_ him? It’s _Changkyun_ , who apparently has a great dick to go with the rest of him, thick and pearling precome at the tip. Changkyun is just staring at him, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, which, no, that’s how _Mingi_ feels, convinced there must be no one currently more awed on the face of the planet right now. He’s caught in the best way, the moment before the roller coaster drops, suspended in the sky. His stomach is tight, all heat and anticipation, so he presses a kiss to Changkyun’s knee, jaw prematurely aching, and dives in.

He didn’t have much experience with men before college - not that he didn’t _know_ , not that he was unsure, but his little suburban town and his little suburban highschool girlfriend didn’t provide much room for experimentation. Ever since, though, this has become his favourite thing to do. Messing around with Hongjoong had eased the learning curve, baby’s first deepthroat with a great teacher. Psychologically he’s sure there’s a lot to analyse there: big submissive streak, acts of service, always fishing for praise. All true, of course, but honestly, Mingi thinks it just comes down to that he _really_ likes having a dick in his mouth. He swallows Changkyun down with a greedy kind of grace, humming around the length of him when a tense hand settles almost immediately into his hair. The weight is hot and heavy in his mouth, and he tongues at the veins on the underside, following the taut lines up the shaft. His as-yet-unoccupied hand circles the base, stroking the skin there, and Changkyun’s moan thrums right through him, down to his fucking toes, curling against the hardwood. Heh, _hardwood_. He can’t stay quiet himself, obscene noises muffled by the seal of his lips around Changkyun’s cock. Much like kissing, he doesn’t have the best technique, always too excited by the mere opportunity to do this to concentrate on specifics, but God, he hopes this is good for Changkyun, too. Mingi, having the best time, pulls off to mouth at the head, breath ghosting over the flesh when the memory of Changkyun’s earlier comment makes him giggle. Changkyun is sitting so, _so_ , still, with obvious effort, not thrusting into Mingi’s mouth at _all_. Can’t be having that! Mingi takes as much as he can at once, whining as the tip pushes against the soft back of his throat. The reaction is immediate, Changkyun fucking deep into his mouth. He’s clearly still trying to hold back, fingers clenching and unclenching in Mingi’s hair, and tears prick at Mingi’s eyes, both from the sensation and the emotion. He palms himself, rough, desire a visceral thing. Changkyun is murmuring to him between his own moans, and Mingi strains to hear over the blood rushing in his ears, jaw going slack to encourage Changkyun to _take_. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Changkyun mumbles, head thrown back. Mingi gazes up at him, at the marks blooming at his clavicle. He can’t get over that _he_ put them there, where everyone is going to _see_ , oh, shit, his ministrations are gonna be all over the front page of Tiktok, right in the open collar of Changkyun’s shirt. “You’re gorgeous, Mingi, you’re so good, baby, so good.” 

The hand is gone, suddenly, from Mingi’s hair, palm on his cheek, a thumb ghosting wet under his eye. He knows, distantly, he must be a mess, but he’s enjoying it too much to care, always does. The hand goes lower, stroking his neck, feeling for the ministrations of Mingi’s throat. Oh, that’s _dirty_. He moans low, insensible, trying to match the rhythm of his own stuttering hips to Changkyun’s, tonguing at the base of Changkyun’s cock where he can reach with renewed vigor. Changkyun is properly thrusting against Mingi’s tongue, now, but suddenly puts his hand on Mingi’s shoulder and pushes. Mingi slacks off dutifully, looking up with baleful eyes.

“I’m gonna come,” Changkyun says, voice throaty and dark. 

Mingi wonders what Changkyun would sound like, were their positions reversed, and replies, for once cheekily suave, “Isn’t that the point?” before getting right back in there.

It doesn’t take long. Changkyun spills into Mingi’s mouth, both hands clutching the seat of the couch, salty and bright across Mingi’s tongue. He swallows gratefully, still can’t believe that he gets to do that, that Changkyun wants him like this, the evidence of it sliding wetly down his throat. He doesn’t get much chance to recover, because he’s being pulled up into Changkyun’s lap willingly, kissing his own release from Mingi’s lips. He feels hazy, from the blowjob and the weed, from Changkyun, whose hands are replacing his own, mercifully divesting him of his jeans. He hisses as the fabric drags over his dick, over sensitive, and he’s always loud, but now that there’s nothing to occupy his mouth he’s openly begging. Miserable with desire indeed.

Changkyun’s eyes have gone enormous, and Mingi shrinks into himself a little, embarrassed to be so marveled at. It is, if he’s honest, not an uncommon reaction. He knows it’s stupid big. It’s part of the reason he and his aforementioned highschool girlfriend waited so long to have sex for the first time - both of them were a little scared to let him put it in her. Not that there will be any putting it in anywhere right now, Mingi is gonna be done _way_ too fast for any of that, but still. It can be intimidating.

Changkyun, if anything, is almost reverent. “Christ, you’re huge,” he breathes. Mingi flushes right down to the, ahem, hugeness, and scrambles to get his shirt off when he realises that no one can even see that for him still wearing it. He’s swung right back to shy, now that he doesn’t have anything to do with his hands or his mouth, but Changkyun is quick to fix that for him, leaning in for another open-mouthed kiss as he gets both hands around Mingi’s length. He’s so sensitive from the friction of his jeans and his own hand that it only takes a few strokes, less than a minute, Mingi going boneless in more ways than one with his come wet and slick all over Changkyun’s fingers. The both stare for a moment, Mingi’s moans practically echoing, and he’s not sure which of them laughs first, but suddenly they’re falling over each other, loose limbs tangling as they dissolve into hysterics.

“Why are we laughing?” Mingi manages eventually, but his voice is so thoroughly ruined by their activities that it sends them doubling over into another fit of hoarse giggles. Tears run down Mingi’s cheeks, some of which he’s fairly certain predate their laughter. Changkyun manages to collect himself enough to get up and wash his hands, and returns soon enough with paper towels, which Mingi accepts gratefully. They’ve managed to stain the outside of his jeans - probably his shirt, too, discarded forlornly on the coffee table.

“Aw, man,” he says pitifully. “That’s _never_ gonna come out.”

“Buy new ones,” Changkyun suggests.

Mingi groans, very un-sexily this time. “You don’t understand! These are my _favourite_ , I was meant to wear them to a party tomorrow, I planned this whole outfit and then I wore it _tonight_ because I wanted to _impress_ you- Mmf!”

It’s easy to relax into the kiss, all thoughts of his clothes scattered to the wind in the face of Changkyun’s tongue doing something mind-boggling. They make out lazily, Mingi pliant under Changkyun’s warm hands, until heat begins to stir in his gut. After a minute, Changkyun evidently feels it too, breaking away to stare at him incredulously.

“You’re kidding.”

Mingi gives a half-shrug, as much of one as is possible when trapped between Changkyun and the couch. “Sorry?” he says, absolutely not sorry in the slightest, eyes flicking over the top of the backrest to the bed. For the second time tonight, Changkyun follows his gaze, and smiles.

When Mingi wakes up _in_ that bed, many hours and multiple orgasms later, it’s to the sound of his phone buzzing, discarded amongst the bedclothes. He gropes for it, trying not to wake Changkyun, who is _clearly_ still asleep next to him despite the midday light streaming through the blinds - evidently someone in this world is an even later riser than him, who knew?

Four messages and three missed calls from Hongjoong. Well! It’s a good job he’s so fucked out, because he’s clearly about to get fucked _up_ as soon as any of his friends locate him. He’s debating the pros and cons of ignoring the entire situation when a fresh notification pops up - Yunho.

_you okay? thought you were gonna come over early and help set up_

He probably should at least let them know he’s not dead. He looks past the screen to where Changkyun is dozing quietly, back to Mingi and tattoo (yes, Mingi nearly had an aneurism when he discovered _that_ ) fully in view. He snaps a photo on impulse and sends it without explanation, discarding his phone and responsibilities to throw an arm over Changkyun, who snuggles back into him, seeking heat. 

Oh, yeah. Everything else can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> following this, post-hookup-glow mingi DOES in the end invite a very willing changkyun to his friends' party because sex has made him even more silly than normal, and the 'TEEZ, fueled by spite and demonic power, have filled the party playlist with changkyun's ENTIRE discography. unfortunately changgi are too smitten with each other to care, and end up hooking up AGAIN in a very displeased hongjoong's bathroom ://////
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/apaithys)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/apaithys)
> 
> thank you so much if you made it through that pile of chaos and idiocy made text!!! i very much hope that you enjoyed it :) i am always excited to hear anyone's thoughts so pls do let me know yours by commenting or at the links above if you're so inclined!! i hope to publish more ateez related fic in the near future so please do keep updated with me on any platform if you're interested (i do be posting my own spoilers on twitter at ridiculous speed and quantity)! much love <3


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